


Let That Fever Make the Water Rise

by machinekeys



Series: we don't own our heavens now; we only own our hell [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 16:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20194954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machinekeys/pseuds/machinekeys
Summary: BAD END RWBYsona AU - Weiss and Yang decide to catch up with a dear friend in the library.





	Let That Fever Make the Water Rise

Yang’s fists connected with the library door again and again, knuckles leaving bloody smears on the rough wood. The rusted, pitted weight of Ember Celica around her wrist added more force to the blows, and the door was splintering under the onslaught. Through the cracks in the wood, Weiss could see the shelves and desks Blake had piled into a barricade quiver with every blow. Yang’s bestial grunts of exertion and the rivulets of sweat that dripped down her face disgusted Weiss, but she could swallow the bile a little longer. Some prizes were worth the indignities she was made to endure.

Yang paused to catch her breath, swaying drunkenly until she rested her forehead against the remnants of the door. Weiss tutted and prodded her with the toe of her boot, which earned her a yellow-eyed glare from Yang. Instinctively, Weiss took a step back out of range, but Yang made no move to follow.

“’m tired,” she mumbled into the wood.

“You’re lazy. There’s a difference.” Weiss crossed her arms. “Come on, you brute, don’t you want me to see how strong you are? Or was I wrong and there really isn’t anything about you worth my attention?”

Yang turned to face her, hands clenching into fists. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. “Careful, princess.”

It wasn’t an idle threat. Most of the time, Yang was a creature of ash and sullen despair, content to sleep and drink herself sick in the filthy lair she had made out of their dorm room. But each time her rage engulfed her it burned hotter and more dangerously than the last. More than once Weiss had to flee from her like pathetic prey Faunus until Yang returned to her bed and the sour-smelling bottles that littered the floor.

Weiss’ sword hand had unconsciously dropped to Myrtenaster’s hilt, pale fingers gripping the tarnished silver as if two feet of broken steel could protect her from Yang. Weiss forced herself to let go and stepped closer. Deliberately telegraphing the motion so as not to provoke Yang, she trailed a fingertip over Yang’s collarbone, leaving a white trail of frost. Her gaze lowered to watch the beads of meltwater slide down Yang’s chest. Weiss leaned in and licked up one of the drops with the tip of her tongue, smile sharpening when Yang let out a surprised breath.

“Hush,” Weiss murmured. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

She focused on that cold, ravenous place deep inside where her Aura used to live and put a palm on the door. Tendrils of ice spread from her, spiderwebbing through the wood to freeze it solid. Yang tensed and for a moment Weiss thought she might have miscalculated, that Yang would grab her and hurt her and her plans for Blake would have to be delayed yet again. But Yang turned back to the door, smoke wreathing her body, the yellow of her eyes tinged with red. With a roar, she smashed her fist into the frost-rimed wood and it shattered, the force of the blow scattering the desks and shelves piled behind it.

“Good girl.” Weiss patted her on the shoulder and primly stepped over the wreckage.

In sharp contrast to the antiseptic emptiness of the rest of the school, the air inside the library was choked with dust and the scent of molding paper. Thin, wavering beams of light pierced through moth-eaten velvet curtains covering the windows, but did little more than throw shadows across the floor. Shelves loomed overhead, forming a labyrinthine path deeper into the room, and the thick carpet muffled all but the faintest sound from Weiss’ footsteps.

Wood and ice crunched beneath Yang’s boots as she followed Weiss, but she stopped just inside the door. “I don’t want to do this. Thought you wanted me, not Blake or Ruby.”

“Of course, I want you.” Weiss rolled her eyes. “Specifically, I want you to find Blake and bring her to me. Now, be a good beast and do as you’re told.”

“Do it yourself,” Yang said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. Though her pose was relaxed, her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, and Weiss knew it would be unwise to push her any further.

“Fine, maybe I will.” Weiss marched off without a single backwards glace.

Despite her confidence, there was no evidence of anyone living in the library. The first few rows were all the same, empty and silent. Books rotted in place on their heavy wooden shelves, leather spines cracked and peeling. The layer of dust coating the floor appeared to be undisturbed in the dim light without any tracks to hint where her prey was hiding.

Weiss paused, glancing up at a worn placard that indicated she was in the reference section. A slow smile curved her lips. Obviously, Blake wouldn’t make a nest near crumbling encyclopedias and dictionaries. Like Yang, she would choose to drown out her misery instead of bearing it with strength and dignity as Weiss had. They only difference between the two cretins was their choice of intoxicant. She turned and headed for the romance section.

Though most of the signs were faded to the point of illegibility, Weiss remembered the way. She could have crowed at her own brilliance when she saw the small pile of cushions at the end of the row. A few small stacks of books surrounded the bedding, their covers showing couples in various states of swooning infatuation. And there, lurking in the shadows, was Blake, nearly invisible except for the two burning yellow points of light that were her eyes.

“There you are,” Weiss breathed.

Blake’s Faunus ears were pinned back against her skull. She held up a clawed hand, Gambol Shroud’s tattered ribbon twining around her palm and up her wrist, its loose ends hanging limp in the still air. When she spoke, her voice sounded hoarse from disuse. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave.”

“Don’t be difficult, Blake. Yang and I have missed you so very much.”

Blake flinched at the mention of Yang’s name. “No, no, no, you’re wrong. You don’t feel that. You can’t feel that. Not for someone like me.”

“Someone like you,” Weiss asked, sensing weakness. She shifted her weight onto her front foot. She could cover the distance between them in a few steps, and she only needed to touch Blake to freeze her in place.

“Liar. Thief. Killer.” With each word Blake seemed to shrink in on herself.

Here was Weiss’ opportunity. Comforting Blake was sufficient excuse to get close enough to trap her. Blake needed to hear gentle, soothing words. Needed to be coddled and held and told that Yang and Weiss forgave her for her transgressions, that she could have the storybook redemption she craved. As if she deserved it. As if she wasn’t a coward and a traitor. As if she hadn’t abandoned Weiss.

“You forgot one,” Weiss said, soft and cruel. “Animal.”

Blake bared her teeth. “You sound like your father. When did you become daddy’s little girl?”

“How dare you,” Weiss spat. She was going to freeze the bitch’s tongue solid and watch her choke on it.

Drawing Myrtenaster from her belt, she lunged, but the distance was all wrong. Blake leapt out of reach of the wild thrust and landed in a crouch on all fours. Reckless, Weiss charged forward, aiming a vicious cut at her face that Blake barely dodged. She gave ground as Weiss continued to press her, falling back until she hit the far wall. Shelves rose high on either side of them, leaving no avenue for escape.

“Stay away! I’ll hurt you if you come any closer!” Blake’s chest rose and fell rapidly with every panicked breath.

What little light there was in the library grew dimmer like dusk fading into night. Shadows dripped down from the shelves and pooled around Blake’s feet. She squeezed her eyes shut and clapped her hands over her ears, claws digging into her own scalp, as wispy tendrils of darkness spidered up her legs and torso.

Weiss paused. The sight of Blake so distraught tugged at some long-forgotten part of her. Something that hadn’t yet been consumed by winter and loneliness. She lowered her sword, pointing its broken tip at the floor.

“I suppose I’ll be the bigger person,” Weiss said, graciously. “We can chalk your outburst up to typical Faunus hysteria.”

“Please just go,” Blake moaned, shadows rising up to cover her face in a translucent veil.

Weiss took another step towards her. “No, I won’t let any of you leave me. Not again.”

Weiss started to move closer and Blake charged, lashing out like a corned animal. She slammed into Weiss with her full weight, and her claws tore through Weiss’ jacket and the flesh beneath. Weiss stumbled and went down on one knee, pressing a hand to the gashes. Without pausing, Blake sprinted down the narrow corridor between the shelves. Weiss was on her feet a moment later, racing after Blake as blood streamed freely from her wounded side. The Faunus was too fast and Weiss knew she wouldn’t be able to catch up before Blake reached the exit.

“Yang,” Weiss yelled when Blake turned a corner, disappearing from view, “don’t let her escape!”

Weiss skidded out into the open in time to see Yang and Blake staring at each other, only a few feet separating them. Yang stood in front of the door, fists raised in a boxing stance, but she made no attempt to grab the Faunus. Shadows moved across Blake’s face in Rorschach blots and she was bent in a half-crouch, like a lioness preparing to spring, but she didn’t try to dodge past Yang. Neither appeared willing to be the first to act.

“You shouldn’t have run,” Yang said at last.

Blake cringed. “I tried not to.”

“I wanted to tell you things while there was still enough of me left to mean them,” Yang continued, dully, “but that didn’t matter—” She looked over Blake’s shoulder at Weiss. “—to any of you. I protected you. I loved you. But I was never enough. I was never first.”

“Yang—” Weiss started but Yang cut her off with a rough shake of her head.

“Shut up. This isn’t about you. For once, it’s about me.” Little trails of smoke escaped Yang’s mouth with each word as her face twisted in a scowl, clearly working herself into one of her moods. “Or do you even care?”

Blake’s ears flattened and Weiss gripped Myrtenaster so tightly its wire-wrapped hilt began to cut into her palm. Any move – any word – could be a match to the gunpowder of Yang’s temper.

“I’m sorry,” Blake said.

Yang stepped aside and gave a mocking half-bow, gesturing for Blake to go through the door. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. If I really didn’t mean anything to you, go ahead and run away. It’s what you do best.”

And there was the trigger. The moment Blake tried to leave, Yang’s rage would boil over with the Faunus as the closest target. While they were distracted with each other, Weiss could dart in and stab Blake in the back of the knee or slice through her Achilles tendon, some injury that would make it impossible for her to flee. Then, Weiss would stand back and let the two of them wear each other down, hopefully leaving the victor exhausted enough for her to subdue without too much fuss.

The shadows crawling across Blake’s face lightened, her expression taking on a less hunted cast. She straightened up and repeated, quiet but firm, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could have stayed. I still do, but I think we all know it’s too late for that,” she continued, glancing back at Weiss. “Goodbye.”

Blake must have understood it was a trick. Though she lacked Weiss’ tactical brilliance, she had that animal cunning that made Faunus so tiring to deal with. Still, she cautiously started for the exit. Yang’s mouth twisted, unable to settle on a single emotion. For a moment, Weiss thought she might actually stand aside and let Blake pass. She was only a few steps from the door when Yang lashed out, seizing her wrist in a brutal grip.

Blake hissed, whatever composure she’d managed to claw back gone in an instant. Her free hand raked across Yang’s cheek, drawing four parallel lines of blood before Yang grabbed it too. Blake writhed like an animal with its leg caught in a trap, but Yang was too strong. She began to force Blake’s arms down by her sides, Blake fighting her for every inch.

Weiss cautiously circled behind while the two of them struggled. One quick cut and then back out range to safely wait out the brawl, that was all she had to do. Blake and Yang would be hers, would look at her and love her and never leave. She was owed that after all the world had taken from her. She was owed so much more.

Schnees collected their debts with interest.

Heat shimmered around Yang’s fists where she gripped Blake, shadows boiling under the Faunus’ skin as her ragged Aura tried to keep her from burning. She went down on one knee, eyes wide with such desperation that Weiss unconsciously reached out to help her before coming to her senses. The long-forgotten protective instinct sat like acid in her chest, and Weiss swallowed hard, trying to dispel the feeling.

At that moment, the darkness wreathing Blake’s wrists dissipated, the last of her Aura exhausted. She screamed as Yang’s grip began to sear her skin. Yang flinched at the sound, her hold on Blake loosening slightly. She might have been about to let Blake go or it perhaps it had just been brief second of weakness, Weiss wasn’t certain. And she never would be, because she found herself lunging to bury Myrtenaster’s broken tip deep into Yang’s shoulder.

Shocked, Weiss dropped her sword as Yang released Blake to clutch at the wound. Blake was on her feet in an instant, vaulting over the wreckage of the library doors and bolting down the hallway. Yang pulled back her hand, looking from the bright crimson blood sizzling on her palm to Weiss, her expression molten with confusion and pain.

Weiss raised her hands in a placating gesture and started slowly backing away. “Let’s not be hasty, Yang. Mistakes happen in battle.”

“Why,” Yang asked, rough and guttural, like the rage had left her throat coated in soot.

“I don’t know,” Weiss answered honestly. “But the important thing is that we’ve flushed Blake out of her hideout—”

“I think you do know.” Yang sounded more collected with every word, her fury cooling into something crueler and more dangerous. “You’ve been using me this whole time, haven’t you? I’m just a tool to help you get Blake and your precious Ruby back.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” she spat. “I’m not stupid. I remember how you used to look at Ruby. No matter what I did, you were always after her. Nothing’s changed.”

Weiss didn’t like her options. Her retreat had taken her too far from Myrtenaster if Yang decided to charge, and Weiss doubted she could outrun Yang if she tried to follow Blake’s escape route.

“It’s not a lie,” Weiss said as sweetly as she could, her voice only shaking a little. “I want you. I only ever wanted you.”

“Heh, fine. Be that way. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” Yang’s mouth twisted, eventually settling into a vicious grin. “You want me, princess? Well, you’ve got me.”

Yang covered the distance between them before Weiss could run. She grabbed the collar of Weiss’ jacket and yanked her off her feet to hurl her into a nearby bookcase. It splintered, burying Weiss under a pile of books and rotted wood. The impact left her too stunned even to feel the pain and she gasped for air with lungs that refused to cooperate. Dust was in her eyes, blinding her, and in her mouth, mixing with the coppery taste of blood.

A hand seized the front of her shirt and dragged her out of the wreckage. Weiss had just enough time to draw a single breath, only to have it knocked right out her again when Yang slammed her up against the wall, white starbursts exploding across her vision. Yang got a better grip on her clothes and hoisted her higher, leaving her feet to dangle in the air. Blearily, Weiss braced for another blow, but Yang seemed content to let her gather herself. She didn’t even blink when Weiss wrapped a hand over Yang’s, frost spreading from her palm up Yang’s heavily muscled arm.

“I really should kill you, you brute,” Weiss said. After a moment to consider propriety, she spit out the blood and grit still in her mouth.

“Yeah, but you won’t, because then you’d be all alone in this big, empty school.” Yang let Weiss cup her jaw, leaning into the touch as it began to turn her skin pale and her lips blue. “I won’t kill you either, y’know. Because you’re mine.”

The sentiment was as nauseating in its arrogance and presumption as ever. Weiss’ hands trembled with the desire to rip and claw and freeze until Yang was finally cowed into her proper place at Weiss’ feet. But she wasn’t wrong, and that was the most bitter part of it all. Without an audience, an aria was just noise.

Yang’s tongue darted out to taste the frost forming on her lips, eyes never leaving Weiss’. There was a gleam of draconic possessiveness in them that Weiss craved as much as it sickened her. She had struggled since birth to be more than her father’s wind-up doll, pretty and isolated, loved only when she performed exactly as expected, but she might be able to stomach being a treasure in Yang’s hoard. Just so long as Yang coveted her. Never left her. Never stopped looking at her. 

Slowly, Weiss stroked Yang’s frozen cheek with the backs of her fingers. “Am I? Yours, that is.”

Yang stepped in so that her weight pressed Weiss harder against the wall. A hand kept Weiss pinned, while the other tugged one of her legs around Yang’s hip. This close Yang’s body felt like a furnace, her fingertips like brands as they traveled further up Weiss’ thigh, sliding under the hem of her skirt. Weiss couldn’t help but inhale sharply, leg tensing to pull Yang even tighter against her.

“I’ll prove it,” Yang murmured as she leaned in for a kiss.

Weiss put a finger on Yang’s lips and drove her thumb into the sluggishly bleeding puncture in her shoulder. Yang’s arm spasmed and she dropped Weiss with a roar of pain. It wasn’t far to fall and Weiss landed on her feet, her thumb still deep inside the wound. She viciously twisted it and sent a spike of cold piercing through Yang’s body to bring her to her knees, teeth chattering and eyes filled with murderous fury.

“Don’t bother getting up.” Weiss propped a foot up on Yang’s good shoulder. “You can prove it to me just fine from down there.”

Yang stared up at her for several long moments, expression unreadable. Without breaking eye contact, she turned her head slightly and kissed Weiss’ ankle, her calf, and the narrow band of skin where her boot ended just below the knee. Her hand traced a similar path along Weiss’ other leg, and this time Weiss’ did nothing as it dipped beneath her skirt, finding her wet and aching.

Yang hiked Weiss’s skirt out of the way and leaned in to lick at her through the soaked cloth, her height forcing her to hunch and contort to get the angle right. Weiss gasped and Yang looked up again, this time with a sly grin, her lips slick and shiny. She hooked two fingers in the waistband of Weiss’ underwear, dragging them down and burying her face back between trembling thighs. Without any barriers in the way, her tongue was fever hot against Weiss’ folds. The pleasure was an almost sharp, violent thing, and Weiss struggled to stay upright, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the stone wall.

Yang was relentless. Ravenous. She seized Weiss’ hips in a bruising grip and forced her to grind down harder, dismantling Weiss’ composure with each greedy lick. Weiss grabbed fistfuls of golden hair as much to steady herself as to exert any sort of control. Growling, Yang redoubled her efforts, hands flexing just enough to remind Weiss of their strength, of how easy it would be for Yang to break her.

Yang was a forest fire, intent on consuming her until there was nothing left but smoke and ashes. A wild beast devouring her alive. Heat and pleasure twisted through Weiss, nearly painful in their intensity. Sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes. Her breath came in gasps only to be wasted on groans and stuttered demands for more.

Yang dragged her tongue over Weiss’ clit again and again, gripping Weiss so that she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but let Yang force her over the edge. Keening, Weiss doubled over as if she’d been punched, Yang’s hold on her hips the only thing keeping her upright. And still Yang didn’t stop, continuing until Weiss stopped trying to squirm away and was left hanging limp over Yang’s shoulder, face buried in matted curls, clutching at her shirt.

Weiss breathed in the scent of old smoke, so strangely nostalgic. Before the end of the world, before the mists fell and their eyes turned a poisonous yellow, she remembered the late-night study sessions they would have as a team, books, notes, and bodies all crammed into one bed. Blake studiously ran through past exam questions, and Ruby would blurt out the wrong answer, but then – after pausing for a moment to think – would come up with the correct one.

And Yang. She always looked so proud of her sister. So proud of all of them. Her head pillowed in Weiss’ lap as Weiss perfectly recited some aspect of dust technology or the history of a famous huntress. Her hair smelling of gunsmoke and conditioner, warm like a living thing when Weiss absentmindedly stroked a hand down the length of it.

Yang loosened her grip and let Weiss slide down the wall to slump in front of her. There was none of the triumph or gloating Weiss expected to see in her expression. Instead, she looked hard at Weiss as if she were searching for something and unable to find it.

“It’s rude to stare,” Weiss said, finally, but the scolding had no real acid in it. “What do you want now?”

Yang shook her head. “I—I don’t know.”

She reached out and pulled Weiss into an embrace, her heavily muscled arms trembling as they crushed Weiss to her chest. Where Yang’s face was pressed to the top of Weiss’ head, she could feel the faint dampness of tears. Over and over again, Yang mumbled the same few words into white hair, too low for Weiss to hear.

Swallowing, Weiss tried to reciprocate, but her hands stayed rigid at her sides, the comforting platitudes remained trapped in her throat. The scent of smoke clinging to Yang’s hair and skin became more cloying and unpleasant with each passing moment. Weiss gradually grew more aware of the dirt and blood staining Yang’s shirt. The crude, possessive way her fingers began to dig into Weiss’ skin. Of how the words Yang kept muttering had become mine, mine, mine.

How disgusting. How perfectly vile. Blake might have gone to ground, but once flushed out of her new den and brought to heel, Weiss could afford to be less careful in how she tamed her other beast. Yang would learn to bend her knees and bare her neck, and Weiss planned to enjoy every minute of it.

Hidden in the hollow of Yang’s throat, Weiss smiled, her teeth bone-white with frost.


End file.
